I Came for a Peach

Lost in Thought - Postcard of the Month

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PLAYLIST

What a month May has been. (I think we say that every month now.)

This past holiday weekend, a series of sounds provided a playlist. Cycling with it, a host of emotions.

The first sound was a hum of something not uncommon in our area—groups of motorcyclists taking the county’s scenic back roads and iconic bridges over the Delaware River to Pennsylvania. Out for a ride. Each time a wave would pass, my heart would clench, unprepared for the way such a sound could sway a soul. Brrrrhm.

The second was the flapping of the flag, deeply symbolic fabric flying proudly, almost with intention in the wind, carrying a strong sense of peace. A banner of hope and honor and freedom. Billow.

Then, the birds. Singing, chirping…questioning the paltry amount of birdseed left in the feeder? In any case, it was welcome chatter.

Brrrrhm. Billow. Chatter.

Soundtrack on repeat.

RESTORATION

“By nature we’re not designed to carry crippling heaviness for too long, I don’t think. How could we sustain it? Our hearts, burdened with grief, saddled with worry, overwhelmed with incomprehensible tragedy, send signals to our bodies, triggering tears and tired bones.

But the heart is fluid, like today’s low, gray sky, vaporous, nothing permanent here. At least I think it is, and that’s a gift.

Like exchanging kind words with a fellow traveler; like the spontaneous dance moves of a fellow breakfaster; like the sassy daughter taking off to not just follow her dreams, but crush them; like the glowing, pink, radiant peony, from my sister’s garden, designed, it seems, to restore bone strength.” —Penny Wintermute via Instagram

My sister-in-law poignantly captures how beauty and hope meet inconceivable loss and pain, in every day moments. This month’s poem expresses similar sentiments that somehow amidst tragedy lies some level of sweetness.

This week we unexpectedly lost my brother-in-law—an avid motorcyclist with a calm, steadfast, straightforward, compassionate spirit, an analyst with a keen eye and mind, strong conviction; an engaging conversationalist on just about any topic including God’s Word. It was his Last Ride.

Brrrrhm. Billow. Chatter.

Godspeed, Paul.

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I wrote this poem for a grieving nation, a grieving family, a grieving soul. May you be strengthened today by unexpected joy and sweetness.

Until next month,
Erika

POSTCARD POETRY OF THE MONTH

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Printed postcards of this poem are also available on Etsy. Thanks for reading!